- From Fly Creek
From Fly Creek: You go figure ...
My great-uncle Tom, who weighed about three hundred, looked like an owl. His legs were skinny and short, but his body was as round as a horned owl with its plumage fluffed.
From Fly Creek: Cicero gives grades to Lincoln
Just now I am a man more than two millennia out of place. I died, after all, in 43 B.C., famed as a thinker, orator, adviser to emperors and political maneuverer. I was murdered in my early 40s.
From Fly Creek: Last novel column, I promise!
Two weeks ago I had great fun telling youabout Katherine Anne Porter’s appearance at La Salle College when, as a young Christian Brother, I was doing studies there. I loved recalling that appearance, not just a reading, but a stage performance as well. For that charmer, at the same age I am now, had by then created a persona of a southern doyenne, aging but still a coquette.
From Fly Creek: More novel fun
Over years of studying and then teaching the craft of fiction, I learned a lot about the processes of writing a novel. And I learned as much and more from attending lectures by working novelists. Let me share those writers’ experience.
From Fly Creek: My novel experience
OK, now it can be said outright. These last five months, I’ve been working under cover. All the while you and I have been communing affably in columns every other week, and while I’ve also been speaking in a bunch of pulpits round and about, skullduggery has been under way, as I’ve worked underground.
From Fly Creek: Nobody told him it’s undoable
On Slushy Monday of this week, the day after I’d been admiring the crocuses and snowdrops already blooming, an overnight snow had buried the flowers and made roads slippery dangerous. When I four-wheel drove to the Clark Sports Center for the Senior Walk, I found I was the only oldie who’d ventured out. Well, never mind.
From Fly Creek: It’s the thought that counts
Here’s some dialog too good not to share. It occurred in an eatery not 30 miles from here. I won’t suggest names for speakers except for one you certainly know. And I’ll just call him “me.”
From Fly Creek: Walking the walk
I’m into a new source of fun and recreation and want to share it with you. It’s of special value in this somewhatunpleasant weather, and especially for others like me, of a certain age. For we’ve been told it repeatedly by our physicians, by TV’s Drs. Phil and Oz, and certainly by spouses. Walking, we’re told, is good for us.
From Fly Creek: Tripping into the new year
I know the following is fairly earthy humor, but I’ll be surprised if you don’t laugh as hard as I did. I’ll tell you the source after you’ve calmed down: “The new supermarket near our house has an automatic water mister to keep the produce fresh. Just before it goes on, you hear the sound of distant thunder and the smell of fresh rain.
From Fly Creek: It's 'solstice,' stupid!
The rude rebuke just above is to myself. In the last column, I was dumb enough to refer to “the winter equinox.”
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